


The Witch's Curse

by AceTrainerAlicia



Series: The Adventures of Jaina: A Faith Renewed [2]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, questfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23353249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceTrainerAlicia/pseuds/AceTrainerAlicia
Summary: The pyramid near the small desert encampment wasn't the only landmark nearby concealing an ancient secret. This time, though, instead of a hero, an ancient evil lay deep beneath the sands...
Series: The Adventures of Jaina: A Faith Renewed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/371306
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

The sun beat down on Zaba’s back as he swung his pick at the rock, breaking off a solid chunk of granite. Sweat beaded down his brow and his arms felt as though they might fall from their sockets any moment; it was only through sheer force of will that he kept going.

This wasn’t the first time he had worked himself to the bone in the mine, much to his mother’s dismay; it was, however, the first time any kind of payment had been offered. Ever since his fifteenth summer, he had mined sandstone and granite to help build and repair the village, as was every able-bodied man's duty--it wasn’t right that most of the people had only tents instead of proper homes.

Now, however, the grueling work was for a paying client, some old sculptor who had long since lost the use of his hands. The man had requested aid in building a statue, though he hadn’t said anything about what it should depict. Zaba was no sculptor himself, but Jamesh and Khalil had taken care of the chiseling and mortaring of the sandstone body while Garsiv had insisted on hauling the blocks of stone; now all that remained was the head. The four had quietly decided already that the sculpture’s likeness was to be of Azzanadra, to honor the hero’s recent return. The sculptor hadn’t overheard, or at least Zaba hoped--he was a stranger, and not to be trusted easily.

“Hurry it up, now will you?” the sculptor snapped impatiently. “We’ll be here all day if you slowpokes don’t pick up the pace!”

The sudden sharp noise caused Zaba to drop his pickaxe and stumble backward, falling flat on his backside. He grunted in pain and tried to sit up, but his spine hurt too much for him to move. Confound that old bastard! Couldn’t he see that they were all working as hard as they could?

“Can it, old man,” he heard Garsiv snap. “This should be enough to work on the head, and then we’ll be finished and can be paid! Been too long since we got honest work.”

Zaba tried to ignore the sharp ache in his back as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. There was Garsiv approaching him, offering a large hand to help him up; Jamesh and Khalil were already assembling and mortaring the chunks of stone into what would become the statue’s head. The sculptor grumbled something unintelligible and shook his head, not seeming to pay any of them any heed.

“You alright, lad?” Garsiv asked in his usual gruff tone, hoisting Zaba easily to his feet. “Looks like you can relax for a bit now, and Great Lord knows you need it! I’ll carry what you’ve mined.”

Zaba nodded weakly. “Thanks… I’ll be fine! I think...”

His back was still killing him, and already he could picture his mother fretting over him and insisting he stay in bed and rest for a day or so. Still, he’d sustained worse injuries from mining and been fine, and she would surely appreciate his share of the pay from this job.

He made his way over to where the statue head was being chiseled and sat down upon the sand to observe the older men at work. The body of the statue impressively towered over them, each detail of the robes and shoulder pauldrons expertly carved. Even with the meager scaffolding and pulley systems surrounding it and without a head, it commanded a majestic presence already. Once the head was attached, it would be as though Azzanadra would be there to watch over the village and its people even in his absence. Zaba had never really been one for prayer before the hero’s release, or believed in the old tales Eblis often told, but today, for the first time in his life, he found himself bowing his head to pray.

“Lord Zaros, arbiter of fate,” he whispered, “as we find ourselves with a little speck of hope for the first time in years, watch over us and guide us, that we may escape this pit and rediscover the lives we lost...”

Slowly but surely the stone took shape beneath the work of the chisels, first the twin prongs of the high priest’s hat, then the gem in his forehead, then the stern facial features. The pain in Zaba’s back had dulled to a slight ache by the time the head was complete, and he stood up to join his companions for the final step.

The old sculptor stared at the head with a scowl on his face. “Seriously? That’s the way you choose to depict Lord Zamorak?”

Zaba tensed up where he stood, a surge of anger tearing through him. “You--”

Khalil put a hand on his shoulder, gesturing to the youth with a finger to his lips. “Stay calm, lad!” he whispered. “This Lazim guy might have crawled out a camel’s ass, but we only have to deal with him till we finish the job and collect our pay.”

Zaba was about to protest that there was no way a follower of the Usurper could be trusted, but Khalil continued on. “If and only if he tries double-crossing us should we strike back! We do not know when we may get another chance for honest work such as this.”

The old man--Lazim--crossed his arms and merely snorted. “Bah, no matter. Have to take what I can get from a bunch of uneducated desert bumpkins, I suppose... Just hurry up and put the head in place, why don’t you?”

“Our patience with you is wearing really thin right now, _sir,_ ” snapped Jamesh, gesturing for the rest of the group to come help move the head onto the pulley system. Zaba did so, gritting his teeth and silently offering a prayer to the Great Lord that Lazim would stay far, far away from them and the village after he had paid them.

Once the head was on the platform, Zaba went to turn the pulley handle while the others all climbed to the top of the scaffolds to position the head in place. Very carefully he raised it up, slowly but steadily, higher and higher…

As the others eased the head into place, Zaba smiled, finding himself feeling more at ease than ever as he gazed up at the newly made statue of Azzanadra. It felt exactly as he had thought it would, as if the hero was really there to watch over them, though it would of course never substitute for the real Azzanadra. Eblis would be proud of their handiwork when he saw it, and surely Azzanadra himself would be too...

Suddenly the ground beneath the statue violently shifted, and he froze, his eyes darting around in alarm. Before he could even move, the very sands opened up beneath his feet, and he barely had time to scream as they all fell into the unseen abyss below.

~***~

“Freedom fighters, you say?” King Roald asked, frowning. “And you have been aiding them in disguise? Things in Morytania are doubtless grim, but that look in your eyes--”

“My liege!” interrupted the blue-robed advisor beside the throne. “Does her admitting to the use of a disguise not raise alarm bells? She could well be spying for the vampyres!”

The adventurer opened her mouth to protest, but the king raised his hand. “It is more likely she is concealing her identity from the vampyres to keep this group safe! Let her finish her report before you interject again. Now, Jaina of Lumbridge, daughter of Daelin, what say you? Tell me everything of importance that you saw.”

“You guessed rightly, Your Majesty,” Jaina said, nodding respectfully. “I have to conceal myself while in Morytania because the vampyres would notice my hair if they saw it, and the Myreque might be more aggressively targeted if any spies learned that a well-known adventurer from Misthalin was aiding them! They risk their lives so much already without me putting them more at risk…”

She paused to collect her thoughts, pushing the memory of that ill-fated first meeting with the Myreque from her head. “Anyway, I’ve gotten a close look at the vampyre overlord’s seat of power--well, the outlying slum where his human subjects live, anyway--they… they farm them for blood, sire! Men, women, and children, all impoverished, all slaves to the vyres... all harvested for their blood even when they have none left to give!” She shivered, vividly recalling the ominous flapping of wings all about, the sickly gaunt faces and hopeless glassy eyes of the citizens, the stench of blood and corpses filling her nose. “They all appeared to be barely clinging to life--all skin and bones, and they could barely walk! I saw youths and even children just… just fall over dead, right where they stood! Then the vyres would push the bodies off the streets and leave them there to rot…” Her voice was shaking, and she had to choke back a sob. “And this could be the future of Misthalin soon if something isn’t done to stop the vyres!”

King Roald was nodding severely, a troubled frown crossing his face. “Indeed, what you describe is shocking! Awful… appalling…” He shook his head, a determined glint in his eyes. “Something truly must be done!”

“My liege,” the advisor chimed in, “I would beg my lord not to too readily give into his compassionate nature. We do not know if these people are faithful to Lord Saradomin!”

Jaina spun on her heel to stare at him, not wanting to believe what she had just heard. “What does that have to do with anything, Advisor Raispher? Do these people deserve to be slaves and fodder for the vampyres if they don’t follow Saradomin?”

“There are many others in dire need,” said Raispher, blatantly addressing the king. “Are we meant to leave Misthalin defenseless on the whim of not just an errant adventurer, but a known witch? Can we even trust her word when we know she dabbles in evil magic? She may well be working to sell out our great kingdom to the vampyres!”

Jaina straightened up indignantly. “I would never betray my homeland and king! And those spells aren’t dark or evil or whatever!”

“Calm down!” King Roald raised his hand warningly and tapped his scepter on the floor, and Jaina bowed her head and bit her tongue. There was a momentary awkward silence complete with a piercing scowl from Raispher before the king spoke again.

“Aeonisig, please refrain from making baseless accusations about my subjects. Now, Jaina of Lumbridge… You seemed to believe that Lord Lowerniel Drakan seeks to invade Misthalin? What makes you suppose that?”

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves before she replied. “I saw them, Your Majesty. Werewolves--in the Silvarea pass! They got across the Salve and past Paterdomus temple, and they knocked me out before I had a chance to fight back! Several miners also went missing from the limestone mine nearby, and I’m sure now that they were taken by the werewolves… Please, sire, I’ve done what I can, but the Myreque and I can’t do this on our own!”

King Roald’s brown eyes grew wide as saucers. “I… What? This is an invasion! Thank you for informing me of this, brave daughter of Daelin... If Drakan has already begun to encroach upon Misthalin, I must respond at once!”

“My liege!” exclaimed Raispher. “This course of action will lead to very severe consequences! We must keep in mind the Edicts of Guthix! Your interference in Morytania would likely upset the balance and lead to another cataclysmic god war!”

Jaina opened her mouth to point out the absurdity of the advisor’s statement, but the king spoke up first. “Yet I cannot simply stand by and do nothing, Aeonisig! I must lend whatever aid I possibly can.”

“Such is the price for allowing Guthix’s edicts to cripple Saradomin’s influence,” said Raispher, sighing. “While there is little else we can do, there are steps we can take--” for the first time since Jaina’s arrival he looked pointedly at her-- “such as reducing levels of Guthixian influence we are forced to endure in our religious affairs--”

“Those things will take ages,” King Roald interrupted. “We must act now! Besides, how are we to accomplish that without ostracizing some of my subjects?”

“Your Majesty,” Jaina protested, “I am Guthixian and I can tell you that that’s not what the Edicts--”

Raispher cut her off. “We must also work closely with Archmage Sedridor to ensure that dark magic does not become widely practiced--”

The adventurer felt something inside her snap. “Archmage Sedridor and I are on perfectly good terms, thank you very much!” she yelled. “And at least he was respectful and polite even though we don’t see eye to eye! I’m sure His Majesty has good reasons to trust you, Advisor Raispher, but I won’t stand by and be treated like pond scum just because you think everyone should either lick Saradomin’s boots or be vyre fodder!”

“Impertinent witch!” Raispher snapped, glaring daggers at her. “How dare you speak that way, in the presence of the king, no less! Such disrespect alone merits the stocks, but we should have thrown you in the dungeons when you began to spread your wicked sorcery!”

“My use of unconventional magic has nothing to do with anything!” she shot back. “Just because the church of Saradomin or the stuffy Tower wizards don’t approve of it doesn’t make it evil!”

“Still your disrespectful tongue!” shouted Raispher. “Yet such is not surprising from the child of a lowlife who turned his back on Lord Saradomin--no wonder a baseborn cretin such as he would sire a scheming, unruly, disgraceful witch!”

“You son of a--Shut up!” She no longer cared that she was in the royal court; he had crossed a line by bringing her father into things. “You will not insult my father any further! He’s done more for this kingdom and for the world than you could ever hope to accomplish!”

“ENOUGH!” the king roared, slamming his scepter down hard onto the stone floor. The skull-splitting impact nearly made Jaina fall over, and a terrifying silence settled over the throne room.

“Aeonisig,” the king finally spoke, his voice frighteningly calm, but his eyes stern and narrow. “Your task will henceforth be to convene meetings with the church of Saradomin to analyze the Edicts of Guthix, that we may determine what may be done further and find a way to rid ourselves of Drakan for good. Jaina of Lumbridge, while what Aeonisig says pains me, he is still my advisor, and it is the unfortunate truth--furthermore, I must charge you with a fine for disorderly conduct of 1500 gold for your outburst. In the meantime, I shall enact a mercenary protocol that will permit any able-bodied men to fight in the defense of Misthalin for glory and spoils! It is the best course of action I can think of at the moment, and must suffice for now.”

Raispher stopped scowling to nod slowly. “As you command, my liege.”

King Roald’s fury seemed to slowly fade from him. “Good, good… now, go and see to arranging the first meeting at once! Time is of the essence.”

Once more Raispher nodded before stiffly turning to leave the throne room. Jaina watched him go, nervously looking towards the king once she was sure he was out of earshot.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!” she spluttered. “I know Advisor Raispher is an esteemed figure in the court and I must be polite, but when he dragged my father’s good name through the mud, I just lost it... I’ll pay the fine, of course, but I really hope you don’t believe that I would commit treason as he suggested...”

King Roald shook his head. “No, your loyalty is not in question. However, as for the spellbook you released, I am wary--as Aeonisig is--of such power falling into the wrong hands. You must be prepared to deal with the consequences of your actions should a threat to the kingdom directly result--” he arched an eyebrow--“but I trust you will indeed do so, and I trust you do not seek to use that power for evil ends yourself.”

“No, sire.” She nodded. “You can count on me if that Zemouregal character ever comes back, or if anyone does try to use the magic for evil purposes! I’ll put an end to it at once!”

“Indeed,” said the king. “Be ever vigilant as you brave the depths of Morytania, and return at once when you make any further discoveries of importance! All your fellow citizens of Misthalin are counting on you, as are the Myreque and their fellows. Now, go in peace in the name of Saradomin, and may his glory shine upon you like the sun!”

“And may Guthix bring you balance, Your Majesty.” Jaina curtsied deeply and made her way out of the throne room towards the castle courtyard. She would need to drop by the captain of the guard to pay her fine before changing her disguise so she could slip back into Morytania and report the news to the Myreque. Even without the aid of any troops, she could only hope that the sellswords who might come under the mercenary protocol would make at least a tiny bit of difference.

This hadn’t been the first time she’d been yelled at over the new spellbook she’d learned, or even the first time she’d been called a dark mage or a witch--though she’d chalked up the first instance to just Old Man Dionysius being rude as usual. What was so wrong with the ancient spells that Raispher had felt the need to bring them up constantly when no one had asked? Why did the Tower wizards think the knowledge needed to be kept under wraps when standard combat spells could often be just as deadly? Fire Wave and Fire Surge could set entire towns ablaze depending on what and where they hit, earth spells could break bones, any wind spell could cut deep into flesh if focused properly, and Teleport Block was far more terrifying than any of the ancient spells, to name a few. Plus, nobody was calling Ariane a witch, and she had helped out considerably in Jaina’s testing of the spells to try to narrow down the rune costs.

Jaina made a mental note to go and visit the desert bandits again once she’d helped the Myreque, and talk to Eblis about the spellbook. He would be interested in hearing about her progress in figuring out what these ancient elemental spells could do, and he’d surely share in her frustration. For now, she wished she could take that frustration out on the vampyres, if only they could be harmed with magic.

~***~

“You fool! Do you realize how careless you’ve been?”

She froze and blinked, clearly taken aback. “Careless?”

Eblis grimly nodded. “The gift of our lord’s magic was meant for you,” he said sternly. “Not to be shared with the masses who would potentially misuse it, thus tarnishing the name of our people even further! Azzanadra trusted you and you alone with that power, that you might use it to further restore our glories.”

The adventurer was silent for an awkward moment, still stunned and hardly believing what she had heard. “I didn’t think it right that such knowledge should stay buried and lost to history...” she finally stammered.

“It is true that much is neither right nor just in the world,” said Eblis. “However, we must always bear in mind what is rather than what ought to be if there is any hope of bringing about what ought to be! As the Great Lord teaches, think before you act, look before you leap! Did you truly give no thought to the consequences of sharing the knowledge so widely before you did it?”

Jaina felt her mouth practically try to seal itself shut, the question piercing her mind like an arrow. “N-no,” she reluctantly admitted. “I was so excited to suddenly know all those spells that I just wanted to share...”

Eblis sighed. “You may be kind and you may have greatly aided us, but there is much you still do not understand as an outsider! If you do not learn to control your impulses and think before you act, my people cannot trust you not to bring about unintended harm.”

She stared at her feet defeatedly. “I’m sorry… I… I’ll do what I can to make things right...”

Eblis nodded gravely. “I pray that this will be a learning opportunity for you, and that your mistakes do not have far-reaching consequences. It has been far too long since our people could begin to trust an outsider, and I can only hope you do not fail us in the end.”

Jaina drew herself up straighter, a determined flash in her eyes. “I won’t! Promise!”

She politely curtsied towards Eblis and headed down from the dune into the village proper, deciding to stop for a quick lunch at the bar and get a feel for how the people were faring now that their hero had been rescued. She wasn’t going to order the ale again, but the bartender’s cooking was actually quite good--even though the kebab sauce was spicy enough to make a dragon’s eyes water.

As she passed the village shop, however, a frantic-looking woman immediately grabbed her by the sleeve of her overcoat. “Kind lady! The one who saved Azzanadra! Please, you must find them!”

“Eh? Find who?” the adventurer asked, startled. “What’s going on?”

The harried woman drew in a deep breath. “The granite mine, south of the village! A small group of our men went there to meet with a shady stranger who offered a fair sum of money for their work. But that was a day and a half ago, and none of them have returned! My son, Zaba, was with the men who set out for the mine! I begged my boy not to go, but he simply wouldn’t listen... I fear the worst, but I cannot fight well, and I haven’t enough waterskins to make the journey! Please, I cannot lose my only son, and the rest of the men have families who worry for their fate as well!”

Jaina didn’t need to be told twice. “Of course, I’ll set off right away! Gods willing, I can locate them in time, before the kalphites do… Or whatever else might have taken them...”

She dug her rolled-up world map out of her bag and looked it over, and made note of the mine location about a half-mile to the west of the pyramid--not very far away, but still a somewhat arduous trek. She already had enough waterskins to spare and sufficient runes for Humidify as needed, and buying something at the bar to eat on the journey would conserve the foodstuffs in her bag for a moment of greater need.

After buying a skewer of smoked desert sole, the adventurer set out across the sands. Down the dunes and past the pyramid she went, the blazing sun beating down on her with every step.

At last she came upon a quarry, and she shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand to look around the area as she walked through it. There were pickaxes, a chisel, and tiny chunks of stone strewn about the quarry, but no sign of a struggle or any scraps that might have been left behind by the miners or monsters. Perhaps whatever had happened had something to do with the shady stranger the frantic mother had mentioned?

The clouds in the sky shifted slightly, and the shade from the nearby cliffs stretched towards the quarry. As her eyes adjusted to the dimming of the blinding sunlight, Jaina spied what looked like a broken cart in the sand. She headed up and out of the quarry to examine it, and a closer look revealed it to be a wooden platform attached to a pulley--and that this equipment wreckage lay only a couple feet away from a great gaping hole in the ground.

The miners, she realized, must have fallen into the hole! But had it been there the whole time, or had it suddenly opened up beneath them? Or was it a trap? She paused to get a length of rope from her bag, and then went to peer down into the hole.

“Traveler! Can you hear me? Please, help!”

Her eyes widened as she gazed down into the depths of the hole. There, at the bottom, were three men in the white garb of the desert bandits, one waving frantically up at her. They stood upon a tiled mosaic floor, beside the sad-looking wreckage of a statue carved from sandstone and granite. The corpse of a fourth man lay on the floor beside the destroyed statue, alongside another very dead man in a tattered greenish-gray robe.

Jaina waved back at them. “Hang on! I’ll throw a rope.”

She quickly found a nearby cactus to tie the length of rope to, and gave it a good yank to make sure it would hold. Then she lowered the rope down into the hole, but the men didn’t head for it immediately. One of them was eyeing the corpse of their fallen companion, frowning as he knelt beside him.

“What about Garsiv?” he asked. “We can’t just leave him to rot… Who knows what would happen to his body?”

“Really, Khalil?” the third man asked. “Our last waterskin just ran out, and you want to stay down here longer?”

“What happened here?” Jaina called down. “How did you all get trapped down there?”

The third man pointed to the other corpse. “That good-for-nothing bastard happened, that’s what! The lad was right; you can’t trust the Usurper’s ilk!”

“I told you to stay calm, Jamesh,” said Khalil flatly. “We were getting paid to build this here statue, but the blasted old coot meant it as a trap all along! All our hard work in ruins, and Azzanadra can’t even appreciate it now...”

“The prick admitted it was a trap, said he wouldn’t pay us, and then he had the nerve to expect us to keep dancing to his tune with empty promises of there being treasure in here!” bellowed Jamesh. “He killed Garsiv! At least Garsiv took him down with him… Damned Zamorak scum...”

The one who had waved, who Jaina assumed was Zaba from his youthful figure and lack of beard, shifted nervously where he stood. “We’ve been searching for a way out since we fell, but we found only magically sealed passageways! Praise the Great Lord that you came when you did… I never believed in Eblis’ stories before you freed Azzanadra, and now I really hope at least one of his tales is just a fairy tale, but...”

“But?” Jaina wondered. “You know what this place is?”

“I think I may know,” Zaba said, “and I hope it’s not true, but I’m pretty sure it is...”

“We all feel the same way, lad,” said Khalil, looking a bit shaken. “Might not be enough that we leave this unholy place, either...”

Now she definitely needed to know what they were talking about. “What? What is it?”

At once Jamesh seemed to sober up. “There’s an awful lot of tales of the Usurper’s foremost followers and the terrible fates they’ve brought on our people--such as Lord Lucien of the thousand curses, Hazeel the Horned One, Zemouregal lord of undead armies--”

“--and one in particular, whose lust for the Usurper himself was matched only by her cruelty, spite, and her own lust for power,” Khalil continued gravely. “A master of blood magic, who wielded it both to enthrall and to wring the very life from her unfortunate victims; who ruthlessly hunted down the bravest of heroes and petrified them as trophies to present to Zamorak...”

“Who built this temple in hopes of impressing him, that it might one day be their shared dwelling,” Zaba finished. “Enakhra, the Red Witch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with the continuation of Jaina's story, picking up from where the first fic left off! And it's another quest adaptation this time...
> 
> As with the previous installment, some tweaks had to be made to the canon quest to make things make sense from a story perspective. Jaina, while powerful and unusually skilled as an adventurer, is still a seventeen-year-old girl, and would not be adept enough at sculpture to carve an entire massive statue all on her own. (The ingame Crafting skill is so broad and encompasses many different artisan skills with different techniques and purposes!) The miners' presence is also meant to serve to give the Zarosian desert bandits more autonomy and better flesh them out, of course! The bartender implied in DT that a lot of them had lost their faith and no longer believed in the history that Eblis had preserved before Azzanadra was freed, so I wanted to delve into that more with the miners and Zaba in particular.
> 
> I don't plan to work in more of the events of Darkness of Hallowvale into this fic as it would be tangential to the main plot at best and I don't feel it would be too much different from canon to be worth retreading. That particular canon scene was adapted mainly to show the consequences of Jaina's release of the Ancient Magicks, and Raispher was a suitable character to overreact negatively to her doing so. (Don't worry; the Myreque plot will be important later!) King Roald is supposed to be caught in the middle, respecting both Jaina's heroism and service to her kingdom and Raispher's years of experience as advisor. Feel free to draw your own conclusions as to whether she was foolish or justified in her decision to publish the spells!
> 
> Enakhra is one of the more underrated and underused villains in lore, and her characterization is both inconsistent and sorely lacking. I hope to establish her as a truly terrifying threat--which we'll hopefully see in the next part!
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: This chapter contains some descriptions of animal cruelty. Reader discretion is advised!**

“Are you sure about going down there?” Zaba asked worriedly, watching as the other two men slowly pulled Garsiv’s body up from the hole via the pulley.

“What choice do I have?” Jaina pointed out, handing three newly full waterskins to the youth. “If that Zamorakian fellow dropped you down there to catch the attention of the Red Witch, no doubt she’ll turn her sights to your village and eye you up as her next victims! I can’t just let her come after you.”

“But what about you?” Zaba eyed her worriedly, shaking where he stood. “She’s brought down many a mighty hero with surprising ease!”

“I’ll deal with her when she shows up,” said Jaina firmly. “I’ve faced both Lucien and Zemouregal before, and lived! My magic will at least give me a fighting chance, and I can teleport out if things get dicey! I should be able to dispel those barriers you mentioned, and hopefully I should at least be able to re-trap her in her own temple! And Garsiv will be avenged too!”

“Be very careful,” Khalil warned. “You may have survived Lord Lucien of the Thousand Curses by the grace of the Great Lord, but the followers of the Usurper are not to be underestimated! The Red Witch may not be known for incredible strength as he is, but she will be no less deadly and cunning.”

Jaina nodded. “Of course I’ll be careful! I’ll come back alive and in one piece; that’s a promise! You guys should hurry back to the village and arrange a proper burial for Garsiv--your families are all worried about you.”

She slid down the rope and stepped gingerly onto the underground floor, pausing to survey her surroundings. The temple walls were made of granite and sandstone bricks and featured many ornate carvings of what looked to be volcanoes, simple blocky huts, and abstract depictions of wars and battles. Tattered scarlet banners bearing the twin demon-horn symbol of Zamorak lined the walls, and there were stuffed heads of various unfortunate creatures--some familiar, some she had never seen before--mounted between each banner. Torches blazed fiercely on the walls, the smell of oil they gave off masking the stench of the crumpled corpse nearby. Near the destroyed statue sat a silver letter M on a pedestal, which the adventurer decided to pick up and stash in her bag--it seemed like something important, probably related to the magical barriers.

She knelt to search the body of the Zamorakian for any clues he might have known about the place. She managed to find a full pouch of runes, a heavy coin purse, a journal, an empty inkwell, and a couple of empty waterskins, but there wasn’t anything else there besides Garsiv’s dagger in his chest and the bloodstained robes he was wearing.

Jaina hurried away from the corpse, not wanting to stand near a dead body longer than needed, and stuffed the rune pouch and coin purse into her bag before flipping through the journal. It revealed that the man’s name was Lazim and he was a mage of Zamorak who had been researching this temple, having hoped to study under one of Zamorak’s Mahjarrat followers. He described how he had first sought out Khazard only to find out that the general’s army had little use for scholarly mages, how he had searched for every scrap of information he could find about the Red Witch, how he had learned of an ill-fated assault on the temple in the Fourth Age and discovered from that expedition that the witch had shut herself in on the top floor and sealed the doors on the lower floors with magical barriers. The journal then went on to describe Lazim’s failed attempts to find an entrance and his fear of the wrath of the desert bandits should they learn his faith and his true mission, and finally his scheme to exploit the village miners to open the way into the temple. It seemed he had planned to send the miners ahead of him, let them be disoriented by the traps--though he didn’t mention what the traps were exactly--and discreetly dispel the barriers for them to go ahead until they stumbled into the witch’s chambers.

Jaina found herself even more relieved that she had arrived when she had. Lazim fortunately hadn’t counted on meeting his end down here, or that she would have come searching for the group. Still, the Red Witch may already be aware that her temple had been breached; there was no turning back now--she must face her, one way or another.

Turning around the nearest corner, she came upon a sealed door, shimmering with a magical force field. No sooner had she laid eyes on it than her vision blurred and her nose filled with the smell of smoke and incense, a scene taking shape in her mind’s eye…

_A figure clad in scarlet strode purposefully through a large chamber, burning censer in hand. Her large hood concealed all but the lower half of her face, which itself was partially veiled by the cloud of aromatic incense that swirled about her. It smelled strongly of tarromin, cedar, and pine, and permeated the whole room._

_With a wave of her free hand, the torches and lamps all about the chamber roared to life, illuminating the ornately decorated chamber. A massive granite altar stood proudly in the center of the room, adorned with red velvet cloth, black candles, flasks of wine, and the unholy symbol of Zamorak wrought of solid gold. A thick carpet of red, black, and gold was spread across the floor, and matching crimson banners lined the walls on each side. Near the altar stood a demonic lectern and a smaller granite table stained with blood, and at the opposite end of the room was a ritual magic circle painted on the floor in red._

_From beneath her hood, the Red Witch smirked. “At last, it’s complete,” she proclaimed proudly, her voice low and chilling as she raised the censer towards the altar. “A temple truly fit for my lord!”_

As the vision faded, Jaina stared dazedly at the barrier. Why had she just seen a memory of the Red Witch so clearly? Had the witch bound her memories to the temple? Did the magic within the temple whisper echoes of the past? And why was the smell of incense and smoke still so potent when there wasn’t anything burning but torches nearby?

She shook her head and concentrated on the barrier to try and dispel it, but it merely shuddered against her attempts and held firm, the smoky smell flaring up more strongly each time she failed. Well, it wasn’t going to be dispelled the normal way; there had to be some trick to it, but what?

Surely there would be clues further in the temple; she decided to head in a different direction for the moment and see what she might find. It was a long way down the hall to the left of the chamber with the statue’s remains before she came upon a room with another sealed door and another silver sigil on a pedestal. This one was shaped like the letter R; Jaina tucked it into her bag and approached the barrier. Another vision filled her mind, and the world began to darken around her...

_Darkness shrouded most of the small room, save for twin lava falls that cascaded down either side of the back wall and into grooves on the floor. The walls and floor were painted solid black; on the left side of the floor stood an arrangement of tall, jagged obsidian stones, and on the right a strange abstract metal sculpture of twists and loops. Bronze lamps hung on chains suspended from the ceiling, dimly glowing a magical blood-red to illuminate the Red Witch from the back. She was seated on the foot of a massive bed, big enough to comfortably fit at least three ogres and adorned with a deep vermilion velvet bedspread; her face was hidden in the shadows, but her eyes were gleaming with a strange black light._

_“Does it not remind you of our home, my beloved?” she pleaded. “Does it not evoke the beautiful volcanic ashen landscape of Freneskae?”_

_**“Enakhra, you sentimental fool!”** boomed a harsh voice that echoed with divine power. **“Why do you persist with your feeble attempts to seduce me? We spent a ritual together once already, yet you continue to waste valuable time on such frills! Do you think I am as easily charmed by fancy things as Saradomin is?”**_

_“My lord!” the witch protested. “You know that all I do is for your sake! Time and again I have proven my devotion! What does SHE--” she spat out the word in disgust-- “possess that I somehow lack?”_

_**“If you are as loyal as you proclaim and not merely lustful, make yourself useful to me!”** When the unseen godly presence spoke, the room seemed to shake. **“I do not need some silly temple with a boudoir! What is needed is weapons of war to express my might--your affinity for blood magic surely endows you with the power to create such weapons, does it not?”**_

_The witch’s mouth pulled into a tight, determined scowl, and she nodded. “Of course, Lord Zamorak! Just you wait--I swear I shall not disappoint! You shall have weapons of war that will conquer all who dare oppose you!”_

_The vision blurred into complete darkness, and as it became clear again, the Red Witch could be seen in another nondescript dark room, a pile of assorted animal bones arranged in a ritual magic circle. She muttered an unintelligible incantation, and the ritual circle glowed bright red, the bones slowly rising up off the ground and joining together to form a massive, awkward giant skeleton. It wobbled in place, raising a mismatched foot to try to walk..._

_Then the glow faded, the bones collapsing once more into an inanimate heap. “No, no--curse it!” the witch shrieked, tearing at her red robe. “It’s not working!”_

Jaina shuddered as her vision cleared, biting back the urge to gag. She couldn’t fathom why anyone would think to romantically pursue a god, let alone lust after one! Weren’t the gods above such things? Why would they even be interested in mortals that way? Did they even have permanent physical forms? How big must said form be to need a bed that size? Even hearing the voice of Zamorak in a memory was bone-chilling, yet the witch had spoken as comfortably in his presence as if he were an old friend…

The area around her was still strangely dark, even though there were torches still burning nearby; her shadow on the wall was much larger than it should be as well. Indeed, it was as if a shadow was blanketing the whole area… But why? First the phantom smell of smoke that didn’t exist, now an unnatural shadow…

_Smoke, Shadow…_ Wait, could it be? _Blood, Ice…_ It had to be! The ancient spells must be the key!

Jaina clutched her staff and focused, imagining a pulsing shadowy blob. She had had a particularly difficult time with this element, but as long as it dispelled the barrier, it didn’t matter quite as much... “Shadows, reach out to shroud them in darkness… Shadow Rush!”

A small shadowy blob was flung straight into the barrier, which shuddered and flickered, then vanished. It had worked! Now she could find her way to the temple’s upper floors.

She hurried back to the first sealed door and hit the barrier with Smoke Rush, then headed through the door. A ways down the winding halls she found a K-shaped sigil, and it was still a somewhat long walk before she found another sealed door. She braced herself before approaching the door to be ready for the next vision...

_Down the temple’s sandstone hallways marched a platoon of knights, their iron cuirasses emblazoned with the yellow and orange heraldic crest of Avarrocka that had since evolved into the familiar dual crossed swords and shield of Varrock. Their large tower shields bore the same heraldry, yellow with a downward-pointing sword on the left and orange with an upright-aligned axe on the right. Each wielded sharp iron broadswords, and their round full helms were crested with yellow plumes._

_The commander, distinguishable from the rest by the prominent epaulets on his cuirass, raised his sword towards the sky. “Alright, men--charge! We shall destroy the Red Witch and this wretched temple with her!”_

_A chorus of “FOR AVARROCKA!” erupted from the knights as they surged forward, blades drawn and shields at the ready. Through the unholy altar room and up a grand flight of stairs they rushed, where the Red Witch stood waiting at the top. She did not appear fazed or frightened in the slightest, and this time her face was fully visible--she had thick, unnaturally black curly hair beneath her hood, and her eyes were the same stark shade of pitch black._

_“You shall never have my lord’s temple,” she snarled coldly, and closed her eyes to begin casting a spell. Dark red pulsing orbs appeared and began to circle the charging knights, thrumming with an unearthly noise as streams of ruby light burst forth from each orb. The knights let out horrible, agonized screams as the orbs seemed to sap their very essence away in seconds, most collapsing to the floor dead instantly. Only one was left alive, trembling and having been brought to his knees from the force of the spell, his grip on his sword weak and shaky._

_“F-for Avarrocka...” he stammered, trying to stagger to his feet--only to fall to the floor and drop his sword. The witch strode proudly towards him and grasped him firmly by the scruff of the neck with shocking strength, looking him over as he gasped for air._

_“Hm… Yes,” she murmured, her lips twisting into a sly smirk. “You’ll do just as well!”_

Jaina grimaced and tried to blink the vision out of her head, but the unfortunate knight’s terrified wide eyes and the dying screams of his companions were seared into her mind. She could taste a hint of bitter metallic stuff in her mouth as well… It wasn’t surprising that people would be scared of the ancient blood spells in particular, especially with what she’d just seen the Red Witch do--but surely they should understand she herself wouldn’t use the spells to such ends?

She gritted her teeth and did her best to concentrate on casting a spell of her own, though it was difficult to focus with the lingering memory of the witch’s spell. “By the rhythm of my heartbeat, siphon my foe and mend my wounds--Blood Rush!”

A small shaky red sphere sparked into being and shot out a stream of ruby light, pulling at the barrier. The force field flickered, shuddered, and was sucked into the orb; Jaina felt a rush of power course through her veins. Had she actually absorbed the barrier rather than merely dispelling it? She hoped it wouldn’t have any adverse effects if that were the case.

Taking advantage of her heightened energetic state, she pushed through the door and raced down the halls, pausing briefly to grab the Z sigil she spied on her way. It wasn’t long before she came upon a fourth door; the final one, it must be! She took a deep breath and strode towards it, steeling herself for whatever horror this final memory had in store...

_A figure dressed in a burnt orange robe with blue trim stood upon the desert sands, gazing at the entrance to the temple and watching the scarlet banners bearing Zamorak’s symbol blowing in the wind. His body was clearly that of a human, but his head was a camel’s for some reason. Was this one of the Menaphite gods, a lesser-known aspect of Tumeken’s dream?_

_“So Zamorak rejected you again?” he questioned rhetorically. “I told you many times he was not interested; why would he want a temple?”_

_The Red Witch sniffled sadly, hanging her head and staring at the sand. “You were right all along… I was a fool not to listen to you! I wish I had never supported him! I worked tirelessly to impress him, and he has spurned me at every turn… How I miss the old days, when my efforts to accomplish things were not in vain!”_

_The camel man’s otherworldly deep blue eyes gazed softly at her. “It is heartening to see a trace of the Enakhra I knew so long ago!” he exclaimed, smiling. “It will be difficult, but I shall convince my brothers to welcome you back into the fold.”_

_The witch nodded, beaming broadly. “Of course… But would you like to see my handiwork before we go? Zamorak may have not appreciated it, but perhaps you will!”_

_“Certainly!” The camel man nodded, and followed the witch into the temple at her beckoning. The moment she had turned her face away from him, her mouth twisted into a sly grin._

_As she led him down the halls of the temple, the camel man’s smile faded as he spied the stuffed animal head trophies on the walls; he clearly looked uncomfortable with them. Still he followed her up the grand staircase silently as she spoke at length about the decisions behind her choices of interior decoration._

_At the top of the staircase they came to the temple chamber proper; on a pedestal in the corner as they entered sat a glowing crimson orb. The camel man did not notice the ritual magic circle he had stepped into until it flared up, trapping him within a force field of chill winds. Immediately the witch spun around, casting a spell to freeze him completely in a block of ice._

_“Ha… just as foolish as ever!” she cackled uproariously. “As if I would ever desert my lord! It’s a wonder you survived this long with how easily you fall for tricks!”_

_She stepped over to the red orb. “Now for the finishing touches! I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay, dear.”_

Jaina shivered and pulled her overcoat more tightly around herself. Who or what was the camel-headed man, and why had he trusted the witch? Who were these brothers he spoke of? He seemed to have already been acquainted with her; were they former friends? What had she done to him exactly?

She suspected she would find out as she went further in, and it would definitely not be pretty. Trying to shake the worried thoughts out of her head, she focused on the spell that now felt as natural to cast as Water Bolt. “Swiftly as the winter winds, pierce them through--Ice Rush!”

As her icicle spear pierced the barrier, it flashed and dispelled, and the door flung open. Beyond it, Jaina spied a ladder leading up. There was no way to know if she would encounter the witch on the floor above or if there were traps lying in wait, but whatever was up there, she would face it bravely.

~***~

The entrance to the second floor was a massive sealed obsidian gate with the letters Z, M, R, and K indented in it from left to right. Naturally, each of the silver letter sigils fit perfectly, and the gate swung open to reveal the altar room of the temple, almost exactly as it had looked in the witch’s memories save for the dust and the wear and tear on the carpet and banners. The grand staircase leading to the witch’s chambers was just up ahead, past the altar to Zamorak, but another shimmering magical barrier blocked the way as if to taunt the adventurer.

Jaina carefully began to look around the room, making sure to check for any nasty magical traps the witch might have left behind. She didn’t find any traps or anything of interest in most of the room, but she did notice four hallways leading out from the chamber on the south side of the room. When she approached the altar to examine it, she tried to ignore the unclean feeling rising in the pit of her stomach--and then blinked in surprise as she studied the altar.

Each of the altar’s four corners was adorned with black iron pedestals in the shape of demons’ talons, each one holding a dust-covered glass globe. The adventurer swore those hadn’t been there in the witch’s memories… Or had she just not noticed them before? She tentatively tapped the base of a wine goblet against one of the globes to check it for traps; when nothing happened, she picked up an old cloth from the altar to wipe the dust off it. It looked to be an ordinary, unassuming clear glass sphere--but it couldn’t be; it had to have some kind of purpose… One of the other spheres was glowing deep red beneath the dust, but why were the other three not similarly lit?

Suddenly a distant growl startled her out of her thoughts, and she nearly stumbled into the altar. She definitely wasn’t alone in here, witch aside, and that sounded like some kind of monster or creature…

Listening closely for the sound, she made her way down one of the hallways, clutching her staff tightly. Even having already seen several of the evils this temple held, she was completely unprepared for what lay in wait in the room at the end.

Rusty cages lined every wall of the small room, filled with the bodies of lions, hellhounds, wolves, larupias, and unicorns--and years’ worth of dung that had never been cleaned up. Many of the creatures had been horribly maimed, had clumps of fur plucked out, or had burns from branding irons, and all of them looked emaciated and filthy from living in their own waste. The stench of death, dung, and decay was so potent it nearly made her nose fall off, and she gagged and covered her mouth to stop herself from vomiting. A single hellhound was barely clinging to life in one of the cages, clearly starving and having already picked the bones of his cage-mates clean long ago; he growled fiercely as he smelled her approaching. In the center of the room stood an old man wearing the long-since rusted armor of the knights of Avarrocka, rooted to the spot and unable to move with some kind of magical bubble over his head.

The knight scowled defiantly as he spotted her. “Here to torture me again? Just get it over with--you’ll never break me!”

“Why would I--” Jaina paused, the realization hitting her that this must be the knight the witch had captured. “Oh… you think I’m the Red Witch?”

“Even if you are not the Red Witch,” the knight pointed out, “you’re definitely a cohort of hers! I’m not fooled by your human guise. I’ve heard stories--how you Mahjarrat can take on any form, and use magic to inflict pain with ease!”

The adventurer opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking. “But I’ll never give you what you’re after! Wounded or no, as a knight of Avarrocka, I will stand strong! You might as well just turn Steve loose and let him devour me already...”

“Steve?” Jaina asked. “Oh, you mean that poor hellhound back there?”

_“Why do you taunt me, fresh meat?”_ growled the hellhound--Steve--as he pawed at the bars of his cage, his yellow eyes flashing at her. She was practiced enough as a summoner that she could understand the speech of most creatures, and demonic dogs from Infernus were no exception, it seemed. _“Come closer so I may reach you!”_

The knight nodded weakly. “He has been my only companion for who knows how long, and hasn’t been fed in all that time… The others that weren’t taken for your weird experiments all succumbed to starvation long ago... Ah…” He sighed. “Hungry, so very hungry… How long has it been since I have eaten a morsel, myself?”

Jaina frowned worriedly and began to look through her bag for the foodstuffs she’d brought for the road. There was a sealed box of chocolate cake she had been saving for later; she fished it out of her bag, hoping that would help cheer the poor knight up a bit. There was also some of the smoked desert sole she’d bought back at the encampment; it wasn’t much, but it would hopefully placate the hellhound.

She opened the cake box and handed it to the knight. “Here, have this!”

“A cake?” The knight looked sadly into the box. “There’s nothing to celebrate, is there? So many years gone by… My children must have grown up and left home. I haven’t remembered them in so long...” His face softened into a warm smile. “Thank you for reminding me of them!”

He proceeded to dig in with one hand, and Jaina carefully took a few steps towards the cage behind him. Steve perked up, eyeing her eagerly. _“Yes, that’s it… Come a little closer...”_

“Sorry, Steve,” said Jaina, “but I won’t be yours or anyone else’s dinner today! Hopefully this should tide you over for a bit, at least...”

She took the smoked fish fillets off the skewer and tossed them just outside the cage. Steve didn’t waste any time tearing the fish to pieces; when he was done, he seemed to be a bit calmer, though his eyes didn’t leave Jaina. _“More!”_ he barked.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any meat on me at the moment...” Jaina was already backing away from the cage. “But I’ll see what I can do to help you both after I’ve dealt with the Red Witch!”

_“Nonsense,”_ barked Steve. _“I see plenty of fresh meat on your bones!”_

“I am afraid I am forever trapped here,” the knight spoke up, “but I shall try to aid you as best I can! My name is Sir Pentyn of Avarrocka, by the way, and I still remember things about the other rooms connected to that unholy altar.”

“I’m Jaina Katarn.” She curtsied politely towards him. “I wish I could do more for you, Sir Pentyn… Please, tell me about the other rooms!”

Pentyn nodded and briefly described the other rooms--a frozen fountain that would not yield to swords or melt from normal fires, a dark room filled with fires burning low, and a furnace covered by thick smoke. Jaina nodded and thanked the old knight, then hurried out of the room, ignoring Steve’s whimpering of _“No! You cannot go away, fresh meat! I am still hungry!”_

The frozen fountain in the icy room melted easily with a single Fire Wave, and a couple of Wind Surges blew all the smoke out of the furnace room. The dark room took her a bit longer, as there were different log piles stacked in the back corner and it was hard to tell which logs went in which brazier in the dim light, and she needed one hand to carry her sapphire lantern. Finally, though, she managed to light the last brazier, and she heard the flickering noise of a barrier being dispelled.

Well, this was it--she was going to face the Red Witch herself now, and gods only knew what nasty tricks might await her in the witch’s chambers… But she would be brave and face her, for the villagers, for Pentyn and Steve, for all those poor animals the witch had tortured and starved, for the fallen knights of Avarrocka… If she had survived Lucien, defeated Khazard in single combat, if the hero Arrav had defeated Zemouregal and his undead armies… She could do this. She would do this!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had expected this fic to be two chapters, but it appears there will be three! Again...
> 
> The initial door puzzle is a bit different from canon mainly because using statue limbs as keys to the doors, while creative, doesn't make practical sense from a story perspective--Lazim couldn't guarantee that the statue limbs would be the correct shape for the doors, or that the limbs wouldn't break upon the statue falling. Since the puzzles on the second floor are based on the four ancient elements, I went with the same theme for the door puzzle and decided to tie Enakhra's memories into the puzzle as well, because why not? I also massively expanded upon the flashbacks, as they're extremely bare-bones and insubstantial in canon.
> 
> I had to be creative with the descriptions of Enakhra's temple, because the way it looks ingame isn't just outdated, it's way, way too plain. Enakhra herself said it was supposed to be fit for Zamorak, and she also needed space in there to live, so I did my best to paint ornate--and disturbing--visuals! Some of the descriptions were indeed influenced by the Infernal Source and the finds there.
> 
> The second-floor blood room being a prison for animal "test subjects" in addition to poor Pentyn has two reasons: one to hint at the kind of unethical things Enakhra does as a master blood mage, and two as part of my attempts to develop why she and Akthanakos have such animosity towards each other. Of course you'll see more of the latter in the next chapter! Her human hair and eye color are supposed to be the same color as her gem and eyes in Mahjarrat form.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

The adventurer immediately found herself face-to-face with a hulking mass of mismatched animal bones. It towered several feet over her, its skull looked to be that of a camel, and in its eye sockets glowed bright blue orbs of light. It steadfastly stood guard before a half-built sandstone brick wall, on the other side of which stood Enakhra the Red Witch herself. Jaina recognized the ridged skeletal face of a Mahjarrat, complete with a large onyx gem embedded in her forehead.

Black gleaming eyes flashed from within the sockets of the Red Witch’s skull as her gaze locked onto Jaina. “What’s this?” she said. “It appears that vermin have infested my temple… Past the barriers, no less? Bah, no matter!” She shook her head and snorted derisively, then gestured to the construct of bones and snapped her fingers. “Take care of the problem! It should be no trouble, even for you.”

With that she spun on her heel and strode into a room beyond the wall, shutting the door behind her. Jaina quickly rolled out of the way as the bone construct brought a massive arm down where she had been standing.

“Leave this place, human!” it cried out in a deep male voice. “You must not throw your life away here!”

Jaina scrambled to grab her staff as she caught her breath. “You… You can talk?”

“Of course I can speak,” said the construct, slowly turning to face her. “You must flee, before I am forced to attack again! I do not want to kill you!”

“But I can’t just--” She raised her staff to block his next swipe at her. “I can’t just leave and do nothing about the witch, or leave her prisoners to rot! There has to--” she held fast as he grabbed her staff to try to wrench it from her grip-- “has to be a way I can help you!”

The bone construct was quiet, staring at her with those bright blue eyes as he continued to try to disarm her. His grip was much stronger than hers and her hands were sweating and aching, but still she held firm to her staff, not flinching under his gaze.

After a long, silent moment, he released his grip on her staff and was still. “I am impressed, young lady. You have much more resilience than those I have driven off before! Are you so determined to help me out of my… predicament?”

The adventurer nodded. “The Red Witch--she’s been controlling you, hasn’t she?”

“Indeed, I am trapped in this form against my will… it has been a long and painful struggle to even regain control over my own mind! It angers me to think how she tricked me into slavery… I recall the days when humans instead called her the Red Priestess, and knew her far and wide as a healer!” The construct shook his head. “Yet she threw that all away to support that upstart Zamorak in his quest to be a god!”

“The Red Witch was a healer?” she asked skeptically. “I wouldn’t want her treating my wounds, that’s for sure!”

“I can see that it would be difficult to fathom,” said the construct sadly. “I could tell you many a tale of those days and the lengthy history I have with Enakhra, but you must first help release me from the bones of these unfortunate beasts!”

Jaina nodded again. “Of course, so you know a way to break her spell?”

“Yes.” He gestured to the half-built brick wall. “Enakhra keeps me trapped in this form with a ritual of blood magic--no doubt there is a victim elsewhere in the temple used as the anchor for it--”

“That must be Sir Pentyn!” she exclaimed. “So if we break the spell, he’ll be freed too...”

The bone construct nodded. “So you have found the victim that powered the ritual… But she also relies on blood magic to prolong her life and maintain adequate power indefinitely! As she has turned her focus to preserving herself, her hold over me has weakened over the centuries… I began constructing this wall to weaken her grasp further, and if it were fully built it could trap her in here and be just enough to release me... But she has strengthened her spells lately, I have lost the will to keep building, and I cannot touch that damnable blood sphere...”

Jaina looked over the wall, and sure enough she could see a pedestal in the corner with the glowing red orb on it she’d seen in the witch’s memories. He must have tried to knock it down and been repelled… She carefully stepped over the wall and checked the floor, being careful not to step on any magic circles that might still be there. “Let me try something...”

Inching carefully along the wall, she stood a few feet away from the pedestal and nudged the orb with the tip of her staff to check it for any traps. Nothing seemed to happen, so she swung her staff to knock it off the pedestal, and it shattered with a loud crash. Blood and bits of viscera spilled out onto the floor, pooling around the glass shards.

The construct beckoned to her. “Quickly--the wall! Help me! We must seal her in this wretched temple, now!”

Jaina leapt over the wall and scrambled to pick up the bricks from a pile in the corner, placing them as fast as she could alongside the construct as he did the same. She heard a door slam violently open and the witch’s shriek of “No! What have you done?”

The stone bricks were too heavy to lift more than one at a time, and the adventurer found herself quickly losing steam; soon enough the rest of the wall was too high up for her to reach, and there wasn’t time to try stacking the spare bricks to stand on… She had to think fast before the witch made a move…

She readied her staff and concentrated quickly on the wall. “Ice, be our fortress! Ice Burst!”

The blast of ice spread upwards towards the ceiling, filling the gaps between the sandstone bricks. As it formed a complete solid wall, the bone construct began to flash and glow white. “Thank you… I feel her control… fading… away...”

A sudden burst of smoke filled the chamber, and Jaina started coughing and trying to wave it away. It faded almost as quickly as it had come, and there stood the camel-headed man, a broad smile on his face. “At last, after thousands of years… I am free!”

“Not so fast!”

A brick came flying out of the wall, and the camel-man shouted “Get down!” as he pushed Jaina to the floor and stepped defensively in front of her. When she looked up from where she was curled up on the floor, the rest of the wall had been destroyed and the Red Witch was glaring darkly at the camel man, who now had the pointed angular skull of a Mahjarrat as well.

“You never did know when to just give up, Akthanakos,” she snapped. “You were the perfect weapon for my lord, and now he shall punish you greatly!”

The Mahjarrat--Akthanakos--merely laughed. “In that case, I’m sure Lord Zaros would be happy to intervene! I was never one to give up, no matter how hard you may wish otherwise.”

“More like you were never one to not ruin everything you touch,” the witch shot back. “Bah, no matter! If you value your skull, Akthanakos, we shall meet again soon in the north.”

“Very well!” He did not seem at all fazed, and his tone was confident and proud. “I look forward to it. Perhaps then we can end your worthless existence once and for all!”

Still scowling, the witch cast a teleport spell, and as she disappeared Jaina felt a sense of relief wash over her. As she slowly stood up, she gazed curiously at Akthanakos. He had mentioned Zaros, that mysterious unknown god…

The Mahjarrat turned to her, those bright blue eyes gleaming in their sockets with unusual mirth for his kind. In his forehead was a deep sapphire gem of the same color as his eyes. “Thank you, young lady! Take this splendid amulet of mine as a token of my gratitude.” He placed an amulet in the shape of a camel’s head in her hand. “It allows you to understand the speech of the Ugthanki, my patron animal, and all other camels. Rest assured, they shall consider any friend of mine a friend of theirs!”

“You consider me a friend?” Jaina asked, blinking, but Akthanakos seemed to be lost in thought and didn’t seem to hear her.

“Hm,” he mused. “I sense my brother Azzanadra once more… Could he too be free from his prison at long last?”

Jaina blinked in surprise. “He’s your brother? He didn’t mention a brother...”

“Ah, you’ve met him!” A smile seemed to cross his skull. “We are not blood brothers, but we faithful of Zaros are loyal brothers in arms to the end! That means more than any blood ties ever have.”

“Yes, I’ve met him,” she said. “I rescued him from that pyramid he was trapped in!”

“Ah, the Great Lord smiles upon us this day!” He seemed to swell with pride, making him seem larger than his already mighty stature. “You are a true friend indeed, young lady--oh, excuse my manners! I am Akthanakos, beastmaster of the Mahjarrat and faithful servant of Lord Zaros, and you are?”

“Jaina Katarn of Lumbridge.” She curtsied politely towards him. “There’s, um, a lot I’d like to ask you, but I’m worried about the people in the nearby camp, and about Sir Pentyn, and that poor hellhound… We can’t just leave them there in that room with all those dead animals in cages...”

Instantly the mirth vanished from Akthanakos’ eyes, replaced with a worried anger. “So Enakhra has been torturing innocent animals all this time? She truly has not changed…” His gloved hands clenched into fists. “We cannot allow that to stand!”

He beckoned urgently for her to follow him, and she did so, hoping he had a plan for how to proceed from here.

~***~

When they arrived in the chamber with all the cages, Akthanakos rushed to the one containing Steve, but Jaina’s eyes were immediately drawn to Pentyn. The old knight had collapsed to the floor, his head free of the bubble and his breathing slow and haggard.

She rushed to his side and knelt down to examine him, and he wearily looked at her, struggling to speak up. “Free.. I never… thought… Thank you...” A contented smile spread across his face. “Please… You must… take… my body… to… to Ava… rock… ka...”

Then his body stilled and he did not draw breath again. Jaina was silent for a moment, then closed her eyes and bowed her head in prayer. “Great Guthix, who shaped the first humans from soil and clay, death must come to bring balance with life… May this courageous knight who fought for our proud kingdom of Misthalin find true peace beyond the veil, and walk together always with those he loved.”

She slowly stood up, realizing she had no idea of how to remove the body safely, let alone transport him to Varrock for the burial. There wasn’t anything nearby that could be used as a coffin, nor a suitable urn for if she were to try cremating him. Still, she could hardly just leave him here; it would be cruel and disrespectful to let him rot--or let Steve tear his corpse apart.

Steve… She glanced over to the cage, where Akthanakos was petting the emaciated hellhound. Steve now had a bone in his mouth and had calmed down significantly from gnawing it, but he was growling something around it.

_“The fresh meat from before has returned! Mahjarrat, let me at her! The old one that just died hasn’t been fresh for centuries.”_

“I can’t let you eat a friend, Steve,” Akthanakos said, scratching the hellhound gently behind the ears. “Rest assured, I shall tend to you and fetch you meat until you are healthy once more! But I must also clean up the remains of these other unfortunate creatures...”

_“Why must I wait even longer when the fresh meat is right there?”_ Steve whined. 

“I waited centuries for my freedom as well,” Akthanakos chided sternly. “You can be patient for a few mere minutes more!”

“Any idea why these creatures were taken captive?” Jaina wondered aloud. “Was she just taking their heads as trophies and harvesting the bones for that body she trapped you in?”

Akthanakos sighed and shook his head sadly. “That, and to power her experiments with blood magic… The beasts of this world are so fascinating, often intelligent and insightful in unique ways--we have much to learn from them, and she saw them only as tools and resources to be used for her own ends! Even when she was a healer, she worked with apothecaries who tested their brews on animals, and she even invented blood potions! Yes, those were made exactly how you might think.”

The adventurer grimaced, feeling sicker than the room already made her. Stuff like this, she realized, was exactly why people might think the ancient spells she’d discovered were pure evil… but even blood magic could be used for good, right? If the Red Witch had once been a healer, surely someone who wasn’t a complete monster could use blood magic to be one?

“Those who hurt animals and children are truly evil,” she said darkly, her fingers tightening around her staff. “I swear one day I’ll face her and make her pay for what she’s done! Just as I’ll do to Lucien for what he did!”

Akthanakos stared at her solemnly. “While your… enthusiasm is commendable, you cannot hope to face a Mahjarrat in single combat!” he warned. “You would need years of further training to stand a chance, and even then you would be outmatched if fighting alone.”

“I’ve beaten Khazard in single combat,” Jaina pointed out. “It wasn’t easy for sure, and he was bigger and stronger, but I still defeated him!”

“Khazard? Ah, Palkeera’s little boy...” He seemed lost in thought again, but his expression quickly turned back to serious. “He is young and inexperienced just like yourself, and prefers to fight solely with a blade! Were he to use his natural magic, he too would have an incredible advantage.”

“We’ll see about that!” she declared, but then her eyes drifted to Pentyn again. “Anyway... I need a burial urn of some kind so this poor knight can get a funeral pyre! I need to take his remains home to be buried. Oh, and there’s another dead man on the lower level, but his ashes can be buried here in the desert!”

Akthanakos paused a moment, eyeing Pentyn’s lifeless body. “Indeed, the dead cannot be left to rot in this cursed temple, lest they become ghosts or turned undead… I believe Enakhra kept pots and jars in a cupboard in the altar room for storing bonemeal and other ingredients! You can use the logs in the shadow chamber to build the funeral pyre while I get Steve to a safe place and clean up these beasts’ remains.”

Jaina nodded and set about trying to drag Pentyn out of the torture chamber, resisting the urge to vomit once she was clear of the room’s stench. It was almost certainly rather disrespectful to have to store his remains in a pot that had once contained bonemeal, or viscera or whatever other unsavory things the witch might have used in her experiments, but it would have to do.

At least he was finally going home.

~***~

A thick cloud of smoke blossomed upward, catching the oranges and yellows of the sunset as it rose into the sky. The dancing flames crackled and sparked, seemingly cozy and inviting amid the evening chill that had begun to settle over the desert, but their warmth could not dispel the cold, damp sorrow that hung over the encampment.

Jaina stood quietly in the circle of people around the pyre, clutching the sealed clay pot containing Pentyn’s remains to her chest and listening in silence to the prayers Eblis and Akthanakos offered in a strange and ancient tongue she didn’t understand. Many of the villagers had their heads bowed solemnly, and one woman--Garsiv’s sister Yaashi, his only family; she’d found out earlier--was trying to choke back her sobs as she wept.

The adventurer wondered how they were going to bury Garsiv once his pyre had burned out. Did they have a burial urn for him? Would his ashes be scattered on the sand as she’d done with Lazim’s, or into the sea nearby? Would they be given to his distraught sister for safekeeping?

Something nudged her from behind, and she gave a surprised yelp and turned around to find herself looking at an Ugthanki camel. _“Easy, friend,”_ it said, its tone much quieter and gentler than she’d expected from these particularly aggressive camels. _“I simply wanted to express my gratitude on behalf of the Lord Akthanakos! Rare is it that a human proves worthy of his favor.”_

“I, uh...” she whispered nervously. “You’re welcome? So does this mean you won’t attack me anymore when I try to cross the desert?”

_“Indeed,”_ said the camel. _“The Lord Akthanakos has asked us to stay here and lend these humans our aid! We will serve as sentries and protectors for any hostile forces, lead them to water, and provide them with milk as they require. With his return, we at last have a worthy cause to fight for again!”_

Jaina hadn’t thought that camels could have milk, and she wondered why she’d never realized it before. The people would indeed be able to eat better with access to milk--when they weren’t drinking it fresh, they could make cheese, cream, baked goods, maybe even ice cream…

_“Ah, by the way,”_ the Ugthanki continued, _“Lord Akthanakos wishes to speak with you further after this ritual! You did have questions for him, yes?”_

“Right! I did, yes...”

She thought about all the things she might want to ask as the pyre flames died down and flickered out. As Eblis produced a painted urn of Menaphite design and began to carefully collect the ashes in it, Akthanakos approached the adventurer, his eyes still somewhat somber but with a tinge of warmth to them.

“So, Jaina! Eblis has told me much about you… You need not worry too much about lending the faithful your aid! My Ugthanki friends and I shall handle most of it from here, if and when Azzanadra cannot. We know the Kharid and its hidden bounties quite well!”

Jaina smiled a bit and nodded. “I’d still like to help however I can, but there’s a lot more out there to see and do for sure! So, um, what’s this Zaros like? The locals haven’t said much about him, and I haven’t been able to find out much...”

“You are considering the ways of our lord?” Akthanakos asked. “A worthy endeavor if I do say so! I can tell you some things about our lord and our faith, but you’ll want to speak to Azzanadra if you want the intricate details. He would be quite happy to give you a sermon or two if you let him, but I warn you he tends to talk your ears off!”

“I’ll be sure to ask him whenever I see him again,” Jaina said, nodding once more. “He did say we would meet again soon, but I wonder how soon he meant...”

“We shall see.” Akthanakos paused a moment, seemingly to collect his thoughts. “So, the Great Lord Zaros is the shadow who watches from afar, the hand that guides your every step! A stroke of luck, a bizarre twist of fate, even you stumbling upon myself and Azzanadra seemingly by chance--such are the works of the Great Lord! Those faithful to him must always strive to control their passions, cast off their shortcomings and failings, and seek to reach their full potential. Take myself, for instance!”

He reached out to pet a nearby camel, feeding it a dried date. “Freneskae, the world of the Mahjarrat, is fraught with many dangers and harsh conditions, but its harshest aspect is its lack of flora or fauna of any stripe! While I demonstrated an affinity for the smoke element, I appeared to have no particular talent, and thus was deemed weak and useless by most of the tribe--but I had one drive back then: to prove that the legendary muspah were real, to meet one, and to subdue and tame it!”

Jaina thought about Jhallan, frozen deep within those icy caves, how he’d looked in the form of that strange muspah creature. He had seemed so afraid, when it had looked strangely ugly-cute and not fearsome at all…

“I did not know why I wanted to see a muspah so badly,” Akthanakos continued. “Neither did anyone else, for that matter! The whole tribe thought me crazy… But then Icthlarin came, and for the first time I laid eyes on magnificent and noble beasts! There were camels in the Kharid back then, when it was a lush tropical jungle, but also monkeys, crocodiles, birds with plumage of all colors, elephants, jaguars, zebras--”

“What’s a zebra?” Jaina asked, but Akthanakos kept going.

“That was how I came to realize that I did indeed have a special talent, and why I had sought to see a real muspah! My gift was communing with and taming beasts! So I honed my gift, first by learning to commune with the beasts of the Kharid, then with the beasts of the empire’s territories. When we came to follow Zaros, I was chosen as a tribune for the imperial army. There, I led the finest cavalry unit in the empire, helped train the most loyal of war hounds, and taught my troops how to commune with their horses so both mount and rider could fight more effectively together!”

“What’s a horse?” Jaina asked, and this time Akthanakos paused a moment.

“You’ve never seen a horse?” he asked incredulously. “It’s a kind of unicorn, without a horn...”

Jaina shook her head. “No, I’ve never heard of a unicorn without a horn, let alone anyone riding on a unicorn...”

Akthanakos tilted his head. “Do Saradominist troops not ride unicorns into battle anymore, then? Much has changed since Enakhra imprisoned me...” For a moment, he seemed lost in thought, but then he slightly smiled at her. “You see how I worked hard to hone my skills and reach my full potential, despite never being the most powerful of my kind, yes?”

The adventurer nodded. “And that’s what it means to follow Zaros? To work hard and become your best self?”

“Indeed!” Akthanakos nodded, his blue eyes sparkling. “You have a good head on your shoulders--humans like that are sadly rare. And you seem to have an appreciation for animals as well! What do you think of my patron animals, by the way?”

Jaina laughed nervously. “Well, I’m certainly glad they consider me a friend now! It seems there’s more to them than just randomly attacking anything that looks at them funny...”

“Ah yes, I did train them to be great warriors!” The Mahjarrat chuckled, his eyes once more mirthful. “I take it they gave you quite the challenge.”

“Actually, I just did my best to run past them...” She sheepishly grinned. “By the way, I have a lot of pets at home! I actually had to move to Yanille because there wasn’t room at our house in Lumbridge for them all...”

The next hour or so was spent regaling him with stories about her collection of pets, how they’d each come to be with her, and the various amusing things they’d done, and he in turn told her tales of feats the Ugthanki camels and other camels had pulled off. Even as she listened and told her tales, however, she kept thinking about what he had said about Zaros and his teachings. She’d been working hard to master those ancient spells, trying to get a hang of them, to finally claim the cape of magic mastery… Was this what Zaros wanted? Would he be more appreciative of her efforts than Guthix would? What else did it mean to follow him? Those were his spells, after all...

She had to learn more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And at last Enakhra herself makes her grand appearance!
> 
> I expanded a bit on the blood magic ritual Enakhra used to bind Akthanakos, since the canon quest didn't go into much detail about it; I also made some changes to building the wall for more dramatic tension. (There wouldn't be enough time to chisel every single sandstone brick before Enakhra just broke through the wall, if she could just break it at any time!) I also wanted to explain why Enakhra managed to stay in her temple so long and maintain her life-force without attending Rituals--using blood magic to preserve herself seemed the most logical explanation.
> 
> I thought poor Pentyn needed some closure, so I gave it to him--especially since if he's the anchor binding Akthanakos, why would he still be there after the quest? Of course I also had to make sure poor Steve was going to be okay! He'll likely be in Akthanakos' care for awhile--though he won't be allowed to eat camel meat!
> 
> Jaina's prayer that refers to Guthix as having created humans is a misconception I figured Guthixians would likely believe in the Fifth Age; that he created the gnomes, dwarves, and humans as well as the plane of Gielinor itself. Gotta flesh out her pre-Zarosian beliefs before she converts~
> 
> And yes, I'm firmly in the camp of "there are no horses in Gielinor; they went extinct during the God Wars." Akthanakos is still best with camels; I just don't think the imperial army had them, so he had to work with horses and dogs/virii/hellhounds. He would've most likely worked with camels first during the Kharid campaign under Icthlarin, and then after the fall of the empire.
> 
> Feedback is always appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!


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